


We'll Burn Like Falling Stars Tonight

by challengeaccepted, etothepii



Series: Until Sundown [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Knotting, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-31 17:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/challengeaccepted/pseuds/challengeaccepted, https://archiveofourown.org/users/etothepii/pseuds/etothepii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Does it bother you to work with alphas? ...I mean because you're an omega."</p><p>"Does it bother you to work with men?" Jim asks guilelessly. He widens his eyes innocently. He's dropped his usual accent in favor of Sebastian's, making everything he says sound uncomfortably over-familiar. "I mean, because you're a homosexual."</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Burn Like Falling Stars Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> [Omegaverse.](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Alpha/Beta/Omega)
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> Seriously, don't read if you don't know what it is. Some dubcon.
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> Thanks to everyone who looked this over and enabled me. Because you're horrible, horrible enablers and I love you all to bits.

"Hmm," Jim says apropos of nothing. He sits back from his computer and rubs his hand against the back of his neck, then looks up at the ceiling.

"What is it?" Sebastian asks. "Did you hear something?" He drops his hand to the rifle at his hip, looking around. They're in a temporary safe house but it's a new one, borrowed from one of Jim's connections. It's not one he trusts yet. Someone could have found them. Someone could have betrayed them.

"What? No," Jim says scornfully. The hand moves around his throat then up, trailing all the way to the underside of his chin. He makes another thoughtful noise. A moment later, he inhales noisily through what sounds like clenched teeth. "Hmm."

Sebastian clicks the safety of his rifle back on and waits. 

Jim shifts his weight in his chair, then looks at Sebastian, eyes calculating. "You're a beta male," he says. 

Sebastian bristles. "I'm not a dog, if that's what you mean," he replies. He doesn't like being called "beta" anything, even if it is the technical term.

Jim's head tilts to the side, slow and reptilian. "I am," he says and flashes his teeth quickly at Sebastian. "Omega. I'm going into heat. I should do something about that."

 _Really_.

Surprised, Sebastian examines Jim more carefully, looking for a hint that it's the truth, but he can't see it. He can't see any of the signs. There's no indication that he's anything less than masculine, his body in any way more fit for bearing a child than Sebastian's. There's no indication that several times a year he goes into heat, becoming so desperate for an alpha's cock up his arse that they can smell it even from across the room. 

Even the thought of Jim with his legs spread wide and wanton, like any of the most desperate whores in a cheap skin flick, makes Sebastian cringe inwardly, as if Jim might find the image in his mind and gut him for it. 

Jim's still looking at him in that way he has, where the humanity drains from his face. It makes him look like a lizard or snake. It's fucking creepy as hell. Sebastian's pretty sure Jim does it on purpose.

He coughs. "There're suppressants for that," he says. "To prevent it from happening."

"I know," Jim answers. He runs his fingers over the underside of his arm. Checking for something, maybe, because he doesn't even glance down when he does it. "I don't use them. They're boring."

 

Jim is more irritable than usual for the next several days, flushed and fidgeting whenever he has to be in one place too long when normally he's still enough to make Sebastian wonder if he's even human.

 _Because he's going into heat_ , Sebastian thinks and can't help but be curious. Omegas are rare and omegas who don't suppress their heats when they're unmated are even rarer. Jim's the only one he knows and Sebastian can't help but wonder why. It's not as if the suppressants are hard to get, or even expensive.

Not that Jim cares about "expensive", considering how much he'd dropped on a tailored suit for Sebastian simply because "the way you look offends me". 

And then, a little while later, it's over. 

Jim calls Sebastian to accompany him to a thing with a client who wants a personal meeting. When Sebastian shows up, Jim is back to normal, every movement deliberate and graceful. Even his rage, when Jim's temper snaps and Sebastian has to fire several warning shots (into the client's guards' thighs) is the way it usually is, flaring quickly and dying just as fast.

"Feel better?"

Jim grins widely at him. Sebastian spots a light-colored smear on the inside of his collar. There's a dark spot at the base of his throat, peeking out through the smudged concealer on his throat. 

"Loads."

 

Sebastian finds out what Jim actually _does_ to quench his heats more than a year later, when he comes home from an assassination abroad to find Jim literally passed out in his bed, naked and rumpled and covered in marks. He's pretty sure he spots a bite on Jim's shoulder in the middle of an ugly, vivid bruise. Jim looks like he fought a bear and lost.

They don't show that sort of aftermath in pornos.

Jim stirs.

"How long have you been here?" Sebastian asks, already looking around the flat. No signs of intrusion or forced entry. There wouldn't be. Jim has a key. No signs that anyone else, aside from him, had even crossed the threshold.

Jim's face pokes out briefly from a hole in the blankets. Sebastian gets a glimpse of a bare arm when he rearranges himself. "The 6th."

That was two days ago. Well, okay.

He'd already known about Jim being an omega. It shouldn't surprise Sebastian so much to see proof of that written on his flesh. But he'd never thought about it before, about what it _means_. Sometimes Jim lets someone hold him against a bed (or the floor or a wall or bent over a table, because omegas in heat are _gagging_ for it) and shove their cock in his arse. Someone had touched him, held him hard enough to leave bruises, and Jim had - he'd probably _begged_ for it.

Another rustle. Jim's eyes appear in a gap in the blankets. They're barely noticeable, except when he blinks.

Sebastian coughs. "You want something? Because this is my flat."

The gap in the blankets disappears as Jim covers his face with it. It's sweet, in a deranged sort of way. He has to strain to hear Jim's words, muffled as they are.

"Sorry, what?" he asks when he loses track of the sentence partway through, the syllables becoming too indistinct to decipher. "You did what?"

Sebastian smothers his laugh in his fist when Jim whips the blankets from his face. His hair is in complete disarray. His lips are more red than they normally are. They look swollen. "I said," Jim says, enunciating clearly, "I took him back to mine."

"And now you're here."

"Uh, yeah? Obviously." Sebastian's pillow is wedged under Jim's cheek. Sebastian's blankets form a nest around him, but with every movement Jim makes, Sebastian catches another glimpse of bare, pale skin. It's - distracting.

"But why are you here?" Sebastian asks, baffled.

"Well, _Sebastian_ ," Jim begins. He drags himself into an upright position. The blankets pool in his lap and Sebastian can see his chest in full, now. He looks claimed. Like property, and that had always been a turn-on when he'd seen it before on other people, but now it's just unsettling. "I took him back to mine and now my sheets are a mess." He makes a face. "I'd rather sleep here. It's much nicer."

Sebastian stares. "I'm not cleaning up after you," he states flatly. "I'm an assassin. I'm not your housemaid."

"I know," Jim says and quirks an eyebrow at Sebastian when his eyes drift, again, to the finger-shaped bruises on his sides. He flashes his teeth at Sebastian in a way that looks almost teasing. "Like what you see? Do you wish it was you?"

When night falls, Sebastian takes the couch.

 

"You're staring at me again. If you keep this up, I'll start to think you can't make the shot," Jim teases. His hand darts out towards Sebastian's rifle.

Sebastian bats it away easily, maybe even with more force than he'd intended, because Jim makes a face at him and rubs the underside his wrist where Sebastian had smacked it.

"Touchy, touchy," he chides.

Sebastian double-checks his gear but everything is fine. His sights are still trained on the window in which he can see their target. The target is holding a scantily clad woman on each knee and several cards in his right hand. There's a toothpick in his mouth. Sebastian's going to shoot it in two when he pulls the trigger.

"I can make the shot. Just say when." But he takes the criticism to heart anyway, looking away from Jim and focusing on the sights, letting his world narrow to a point.

"You have no flair for dramatic timing," Jim complains distantly. "Are you still bent out of shape because I'm an _omega_? I already said I was sorry for staying at your flat. I don't have to if it makes you squeamish."

"It's not about that," Sebastian mumbles. "You just don't act like one."

"Like what? A proper omega? You're not even an alpha." Jim leans close and blows a breath of air onto Sebastian's cheek. "You can't even tell. You don't know anything about it. You're surrounded by alphas and omegas, but you, you're blind and deaf. I know you've looked it up. Betas always do. Want to know a secret?"

Sebastian grits his teeth. "No."

"When it happens, it's exactly like the pornos." Jim clicks his teeth next to Sebastian's ear. " _When._ "

Sebastian pulls the trigger.

He misses the toothpick, but the target drops.

 

He gets good at telling when Jim starts going into heat. It comes on slowly at first, Jim getting more thoughtful, more quiet, and usually only takes a day to graduate into twitchy motion, as if there are fire ants crawling beneath his skin.

Then he disappears for a day or two, only to reappear sometimes in Sebastian's bed without asking. Sebastian would toss him out except for the fact that Jim invariably looks too hurt and tired for him to do so without feeling like an utter prick.

Sometimes Sebastian thinks Jim plays it up for sympathy. Other times, he doesn't.

Two days after _that_ and Jim's normal again, at least as close as "normal" and "Moriarty" ever get.

Beginning to end in less than a week, once every three months, but it always feels like an eternity.

"Really, Seb, I think you know my cycle better than I do," Jim comments when Sebastian cancels their trip to Medina because it's the same month Jim's supposed to go into heat and he really doesn't want to know what will happen if they're there when he does.

"Yeah, well, if you get yourself killed, I'm out of a job."

"I'm touched."

 

"Come to my flat. I need you," Jim says. It's day four of seven, so Sebastian drops everything and goes. Jim's never called him like this before and he's never said _need_ before. The combination of both is faintly terrifying.

Jim's given him a key to the flat (tossed it at his face and texted him the address without saying anything more), but Sebastian tries the door first. It's unlocked.

"Jim?" he calls cautiously, putting a hand on the gun he keeps at his waist. "Are you all right?"

"Bedroom."

Jim is, in fact, in the bedroom.

There's also someone else in the bedroom, in the middle of a spreading pool of blood. Sebastian recognizes his face even though the name escapes him. He's an enforcer for one of their rivals, trousers and pants pulled down to his knees. His shirt is soaked through with blood. His head lolls at an impossible angle.

"Antonin," Jim says. "I don't remember his last name." 

A ring of hand-shaped bruises circles Jim's throat. His lip is swollen, split. He's naked from the waist down and the sleeve of his shirt is torn. Blood covers his shirt and hands. There's a red smear on his thigh from when he'd tried to wipe his hand clean.

"Blood's a biohazard," Sebastian says dumbly. "You should wash it off."

"People are biohazards," Jim complains. "And it was going so well, too. I think he dislocated my shoulder. Set it for me? I tried but I can't get it right."

Jim's head falls forward, eyes closing, when Sebastian grabs his arm and shoulder firmly. He barely flinches when Sebastian pops it back into place.

"Did you fuck him before you killed him?"

Jim presses his face to Sebastian's shoulder. He can feel it as Jim shifts more of his weight, until he's leaning on him. "Mmhmm, only once" he murmurs sleepily. "He tried to kill me first. I would have let him go, but he tried to strangle me, so I shot him."

"You still in heat? Did anyone hear the gunshot?" He works the shirt off Jim, then wrinkles his nose. He's adjusting to the smell of blood. It only makes the scents of sweat and semen stand out more. Gross.

"I was, but it's fading. The adrenaline helped. No one heard. I muffled the noise with his body. I twisted my ankle. It hurts to walk."

Sebastian pats him awkwardly on the back. Jim's skin feels unnaturally warm against his palm. "Are you okay?"

Jim looks up at him blankly. "Me? I'm fine. But the blood's going to smell soon. Smell more," he clarifies, wrinkling his nose. "Get rid of it. Speed dial six on my phone. I'm taking a shower."

Of course Jim has a cleaner on speed dial, Sebastian thinks, watching Jim hobble to the shower, stripping off his shirt and dropping it on the floor. They'll have to take that. The blood on it is evidence now that there's a corpse at their feet, staining the carpet.

There are bruises on Jim's back and on his hips (again) and Sebastian's not sure if all of Jim's limp is from his twisted ankle or if it has something to do with how he'd gotten the trail of semen currently leaking down the back of his thigh.

He hadn't used protection.

"You didn't use protection," Sebastian says.

Jim stops with one hand balanced on the door frame. He glances over his shoulder at Sebastian. He looks amused. "Alphas don't use protection when they mate."

He does the math. If Jim goes into heat four times a year, picking a new alpha each time, and he's been doing it for at least fifteen years, maybe more... "You've had unprotected sex with over fifty men? Why would you - _how_ could you. That's -"

He's making a face, a disgusted one because that's reckless, it's dangerous (it's _whorish_ , but if he ever says that out loud Jim will probably shoot him and he'd probably deserve it). He tries not to grimace but it doesn't work. He doesn't know how he looks right now but Jim's eyes go cold and hard. The dozen feet between them stretch out until they feel like miles.

"Well I don't have a mate now, do I?" Jim says, voice clipped.

 _Mate_ , not even a boyfriend, just an alpha that takes care of his heats when they happen. Hell, Sebastian realizes, he _doesn't even know if Jim prefers men_. All he knows is this, that several times a year Jim spreads his legs for the first alpha who'll have him, and now there is a corpse on the floor and bruises on Jim's _throat_.

He wonders how often it's happened before, with no one else to know.

 

Sebastian is not the only person Jim employs. He's just the most trusted one, the one Jim's found useful and competent enough to keep permanently on-call. Everyone else is expendable. When Jim hires others, they report to Sebastian.

Sebastian seems to be the only one that knows Jim's not an alpha, because one of the mercenaries (nothing special, one of the ones meant to be a distraction if anything goes wrong) has been talking about fucking omegas for the last _twenty minutes_ to him.

Jim, for the most part, baits him into saying more and more outrageous things with well-timed questions. He seems to be enjoying himself, like a cougar toying with a house cat that thinks it's the most dangerous thing around.

"Does it bother you to work with alphas?" Sebastian asks when they get a moment alone.

"They're impulsive, but that's fine." Jim gives him a look. "We're not actually stealing anything."

"I'm not stupid. I know that," Sebastian says. Jim had dropped the blueprints to the office building on Sebastian's lap not a week before. His notes on the interior had been too sparse for him to actually care about getting into the basement he'd marked. "I meant because you're an omega."

"Does it bother you to work with men?" Jim asks guilelessly. He widens his eyes innocently. He's dropped his usual accent in favor of Sebastian's, making everything he says sound uncomfortably over-familiar. "I mean, because you're a homosexual."

Sebastian can't hide his involuntary wince at the word or the defensive denial that jumps to his lips. He bites his tongue on that denial only because he _is_. Jim knows it even though Sebastian's never told him. And nothing he says can take back his automatic reaction at having the word thrown in his face like that, blatant and open.

"Do they know?" Jim presses. Sebastian knows Jim's just teasing but that doesn't stop the words from hitting home and cutting.

Because they don't. Because they'd assumed Sebastian was like them and he hadn't even thought to correct them - not when it could put the job in jeopardy, not when it didn't even matter. He's not afraid anymore. It can't hurt him anymore. But it's easier, still, to look then they look and leer when they leer, to make the appropriate noises at the appropriate times and keep everything else about himself private.

It's not something he thinks about, anymore.

Some of the bite in Jim's smile eases off. "It's all right," he says, and pats Sebastian on the shoulder. "If they hurt your feelings, just come to Uncle Jimmy and I'll shoot one for you."

He doesn't actually shoot anyone. But every once in a while Sebastian remembers this conversation, wonders if Jim actually _would_ have, had Sebastian asked.

 

"If I told you to find me an alpha, would you do it?" Jim asks on a warm Sunday afternoon. He lies on the sofa in Sebastian's flat as if he lives there. Sebastian's starting to get used to it by now. 

Sebastian opens his mouth. But he doesn't know how to _answer_ that, so what comes out is a strangled sort of noise. Jim's not - Sebastian's supposed to have a good month, maybe more, before he has to think about it. Sebastian's not sure why he's asking now.

"Because," Jim continues idly, as if they are talking about something as innocuous as the weather or what he's thinking of eating for lunch the next day, "it'd be useful. I can't be bothered, and now sometimes people _recognize_ me," he says the word with deep distaste, "so it's not exactly safe. I mean, I come out of my heat about as soon as they try to kill me, but."

Sebastian opens and closes his mouth several times. "You want me to -" He stops, before he actually says _whore you out_ aloud and gets his teeth knocked in, to think about it. Jim's an omega, but would it even be like that? 

Everything he's read, everything he's seen, says yes. But he'd be the one to do it, to choose an alpha and deliver him to Jim. Like a present. Sebastian doesn't want to, would rather not. But would it be so bad, compared to whatever it is Jim does now? Because if he doesn't, Jim will - do something stupid, something dangerous, something that ends in bodies on the floor because _that's what he does for everything_.

Jim is talking again. 

"-wouldn't normally ask, but you're basically my right hand man. You're the only one aside from me who'd recognize anyone who'd want me dead. And I trust you, for what it's worth." The corner of Jim's mouth quirks sideways; he's looking out the window.

"Fine," Sebastian bites out. "I'll - be your spotter or something. Just tell me when."

Jim's eyes flick to his. He grins. "That's what I always do."

 

"What's your type?" Sebastian asks, two weeks before Jim's heat is supposed to start. He drops in on Jim in his apartment mostly to see what happens when he does; Jim is disappointingly unphased.

He doesn't even look up from the screen of his computer. "Type of what? You're going to have to be more specific, Sebby."

He hates being called Sebby. But Jim doesn't do it often, only when he's feeling especially pleased or playful. Sebastian still can't be bothered to tell him to fuck off and stop.

"What's your _type_? What kind of alphas do you like?" There are, apparently, quite a lot of alphas eager to breed an omega during a heat. Sebastian's cautious post on the o4a section of Craigslist has already garnered enough responses, in a day, to be a little alarming. Now somehow he has to pick one.

Jim looks at him blankly. "The... alive kind?"

Sebastian rolls his eyes pointedly. "No, Jim, what kind of alphas do you _like to have sex with_? Height, age, build?"

Jim continues to look blank. "It doesn't matter. I'll be in heat."

"Yes, but what kind of alpha do you want? I have a dozen emails here from interested alphas. Which one do you want?"

Jim shrugs. "I don't care," he says and turns back to the computer. "Just pick one."

So Sebastian only bothers responding to the one alpha who doesn't refer to Jim as a whore, bitch, or slut.

 

On the day of, the alpha meets him in the hotel lobby. He introduces himself as Brian, shakes Sebastian's hand, and brings what he'd been told to bring - an ID and the results of a recent STD test. When Sebastian checks his ID, he finds that the alpha's even legally named Brian. Go figure.

Brian gives Sebastian a self-conscious grin. He smooths down his shirt with his hands. "I don't normally do this. It's a bit awkward, isn't it? Since I didn't get to meet him first or anything."

Sebastian shrugs. "He's in room 305. I'll let you in."

"Right." 

The alpha jitters with nervous energy when they get in the elevator, stealing glances at Sebastian and then quickly looking away. He taps his fingers on his trousers. "So, uh, do you do this a lot?"

"No."

"And, um... Are you going to go first or did you want to share him at the same time, or? Whatever you want is fine, I'm not, it's just, I don't really know how this works." He laughs nervously.

"I'm not a dog," Sebastian says. "It's just you and him." 

They stop at the door. Brian takes a deep breath, eyes closing. "I can smell him," he says, putting his hand on the door. He licks his lips, inhales again, drawing the air deeply into his lungs. "He's -"

Sebastian cuts him off. "I'll check on you tomorrow. Just one last thing," he says. He slides the key card through the reader and pushes the door open.

Brian turns slowly, already half a step past the threshold. His slack jaw goes even slacker (with shock, overriding the arousal) when Sebastian taps the barrel of his handgun on his forehead. His eyes cross to stare at it.

Sebastian enjoys his fear for several long moments. "If he tells me to, I'll kill you. Try not to forget that."

 

He goes home and tries not to think about it. He closes his eyes and pretends not to remember the way Jim had growled, " _Finally_ ," when Sebastian had let Brian in, or the way Jim had been naked. He'd been naked and hard when Sebastian had opened the door. They'd practically launched themselves at each other once Sebastian had let him in.

Jim had barely noticed him. But then, Sebastian's not an alpha. 

So he cooks dinner and tries not to think about Jim. He eats dinner and tries not to think about Jim. He turns on the TV and tries not to think about Jim. He takes a shower and washes his hair and decides he can probably last another day or two without bothering to shave, then gives the fuck up on trying to not think about Jim.

He brings his laptop to bed with him and looks up omega porn on the internet. He watches them beg and moan and finger themselves. He watches an alpha mount an omega, positioned awkwardly to let the camera zoom in on the act itself, the bare cock sliding into his wet, slick hole, and thinks about Jim.

He thinks about Jim in heat, which he's never _actually_ seen - not in the middle of it, not actually. He's only seen Jim right before and right after, where he is irritable or exhausted. He's never seen Jim _needy_. He's never heard Jim beg and he realizes with some surprise that he really, really wants to.

He wonders what Jim and the alpha are doing now, if they're still fucking, if Jim's as vivid and alive in bed as he is when he's at work. If he'd - the alpha would bite him, would mark him. And Sebastian wonders if he'd groan encouragement when the alpha sinks teeth into his shoulder, or digs his fingers into his hips.

Jim's hole would be slick, would be yielding, would stretch easily to accommodate Sebastian's cock. He'd want it. Sebastian would thrust into him and pin him to the bed and fuck him, and Jim would thrust back eagerly, begging him, "More, harder, like that, yeah, Seb, yeah."

The alpha in the video thrusts into the omega, then tenses, breathing heavily. The shot zooms in to his cock, buried in the omega's ass, watching as it swells, growing rounder and larger, stretching the ring of muscle clenched it. A third voice - not the omega whimpering or the alpha grunting, but the cameraman, murmuring encouragement, joins the audio.

The omega's muscles stretch further - his hole red and swollen, as the alpha pulls his cock partway out, freeing his knot, then forces it back in, slowly. They stay like that and the shot zooms out again, revealing the curl of the alpha's arm over the omega and his face nuzzling at his throat.

That's what they'd be doing now. The alpha would have knotted Jim by now, would have plugged his hole and forced him still. They'd be tied together, stuck at the point where the alpha's swollen inside him, and Jim would be lying there, sated, content to have the alpha's semen inside him, flooding him.

Maybe they'd cuddle. Maybe the alpha would suck a mark into his neck, a bruise that'd last for days. Maybe he'd cup Jim's cock and stroke him off while they're tied, making him thrust and moan and come, spilling onto the sheets.

Jim would be bruised and scratched, but in a way that if Sebastian asked him about it he'd grin, wide and bright, and say nothing. And when it stops, when the alpha's knot recedes, they'll drink some water and take a break and do it again, as soon as they're able.

Sebastian closes the video and shuts down his laptop, suddenly uninterested in watching further.

 

The room reeks of sex the next day when Sebastian comes to check on Jim, and they're still going at it. Or, the alpha is, pounding away at Jim with every sign of enthusiasm. But Jim's just lying on his stomach, arms crossed beneath his head, completely limp. There are a pair of pillows under him, propping his arse up. For a faintly horrified moment, Sebastian wonders if he's even _conscious_ , but when he steps closer and the floor creaks beneath him, Jim's eyes snap open to meet his, dark and alert.

The alpha doesn't seem to care that he's there, might not even notice, as focused as he is on Jim. Sebastian frowns. _Are you okay?_ he mouths.

Jim's shoulders shrug minutely. He raises a hand and makes a so-so motion, which doesn't mean anything, as far as Sebastian's concerned. He doesn't look like he's enjoying himself anymore. He doesn't look like he _cares_. He just lies there, perfectly still, perfectly passive, letting the alpha slam into him repeatedly with short, rough movements.

Sebastian takes out his gun. He raises it inquisitively.

Jim looks at it, then over his shoulder at the alpha. He considers for a moment, head tilted, before he shaking his head. He shoos Sebastian away with his hand.

Sebastian frowns. He points the gun at the alpha and mimes pulling the trigger, then raises his eyebrows again in question. _Are you sure?_

Jim starts to speak, but his voice comes out a hoarse croak. He clears his throat. "There's no point. He'll be done soon."

When Sebastian lowers his gun but doesn't say anything, trying to stare without making it obvious that's what he's doing (looking but not looking at the slender muscles defined on Jim's bare back, and the way sweat has plastered locks of hair to his forehead), Jim rolls his eyes.

"Unless you're waiting for your turn, you can go now," Jim says. He looks pointedly at the door.

Sebastian smiles with his mouth closed. It feels like biting down on a mouthful of broken glass.

He leaves.

 

Jim doesn't show up in Sebastian's flat that night or the morning after. He calls the hotel after noon when Jim still hasn't arrived. The receptionist says he'd checked out the night before in the company of his boyfriend. Sebastian thanks her and hangs up before he can say anything rash, then calls Jim's phone.

He picks up on the 9th ring. "Hello?" His voice is bleary and soft, gentle in the way Sebastian only ever hears by accident, when Jim is still half-asleep.

"Sorry, I - did I wake you? Where are you?"

Cloth rustles in the background. "A bit. I'm at home. Why are you calling? What happened?" With each word, Jim's voice becomes clearer, more alert.

"Nothing. I was just -" Sebastian cuts himself off before he can embarrass himself. "It's nothing. Go back to sleep."

He can hear the fwoomp sound as Jim drops back onto his pillow. The cloth noise in the background is blankets rearranging around him. "M'kay. See you later."

"Yeah," Sebastian says, when the call clicks off. "Seeya."

 

But as far as "picking up an alpha and hand-delivering him to your in-heat omega boss" goes, it could have been worse. And Jim _seems_ to be happy. At least, whenever he gets irritated or angry, it's about something that has nothing to do with his heat or being an omega.

"So, how was the alpha?" Sebastian finally asks, unable to bear not knowing any longer. "Was it... okay?"

Jim shrugs. "It was fine. He was an alpha, he mounted me, I'm not in heat anymore. Thanks for taking care of it. I knew I could count on you, Sebby."

"Don't call me -"

"Sebastian," Jim says sharply.

Sebastian stops mid-sentence. Jim doesn't say anything. The silence stretches out just long enough for Sebastian to glance around himself, wondering if there's something he's not getting. A beat later, Jim smirks at him.

"I'm sorry, were you saying something?"

"Yeah, fuck you," Sebastian mutters half-heartedly to hide his embarrassment. "Anyway, I've got his number. You want him for next time?"

Jim rolls his eyes. "Sebastian," he says. "I really don't care _who_ you find for me, as long as you find someone."

 

Sebastian saves Brian's number into his phone and calls him the next time, and the time after that.

Between those phone calls, where Sebastian says "He needs you," and Brian says "Yes, yes, just tell me where to go," he and Jim rig elections and blackmail officials and spend six godawful weeks in the middle of nowhere just because Jim says, "No, it'll be fun. What's the point if you're not having any fun?"

And in those in-between times, which is most of the time, being around Jim feels a little bit like being around a wild animal because Jim's _vicious_. He's vicious and sharp and sometimes in Sebastian's dreams he's a shark, waiting for Sebastian to fall into the water.

Everyone's afraid of him. Everyone's afraid of _Moriarty_ , who is brilliant and merciless and as quick to act as a striking snake. Everyone but Sebastian.

Because Jim spends seven days of every ninety being vulnerable, being _needy_. It gives Sebastian a weird, shameful, voyeuristic _thrill_ each time, because when he's done - when it's over and the alpha's gone and it's just the two of them...

He doesn't know.

But sometimes Jim is vulnerable and content and not-quite-subdued, and it's fucking beautiful, is what it is, even though Sebastian knows that's not something Jim would ever want to hear him say. He knows he shouldn't like it when Jim's like that but he _does_. 

Sometimes he thinks about it when he doesn't mean to, at the worst, most inconvenient of times. When Jim is scowling or raging or threatening someone in that terrifyingly inhuman way he has, he'll think about Jim in those post-heat moments, when he is as drowsy and content as a cat, curled up in bed as if he could ever be kept.

 

Sebastian feels like he ought to worry about the fact that they're neither of them alphas while meeting with an alpha supremacy group, especially one that's not afraid to go after omega's rights activists. When he brings it up, Jim just shrugs at him.

"Stay out of sight if you think they'll notice. They think I'm an alpha."

Jim had picked the meeting spot. Whenever he picks meeting spots (and even most of the time when he doesn't), there's a good corner for Sebastian to get himself situated. This time, it's the rafters. The beams are wide enough and near enough to each other that it's child's play to set up the tripod for his rifle and make himself comfortable.

They're early, of course.

Sebastian covers the entrances while Jim double checks the bag that holds his offer, cash and a briefcase of files in exchange for an introduction to the people Jim _actually_ wants to meet, some shady group rumored to have the maps of dozens of networks of forgotten underground tunnels, granting access to key buildings in several major cities, London included.

Four men arrive, to their two.

To their _one_ , because even when two of the three guards break apart to search the area, they forget to look up at the right time and miss Sebastian entirely. He wonders if they think Moriarty's stupid enough to be alone.

Jim shakes Coulson's hand, very briefly, then steps back. He says something, smiling. Coulson replies, then nods at one of his guards. Buzz Cut moves forward. He crouches and, at Jim's feet, opens the duffel bag.

There are three briefcases inside, none of them locked. Sebastian watches Coulson's face, wariness giving way to satisfaction.

And then it all goes to shit.

Something happens, something that makes Jim's expression shift between several emotions too quickly for Sebastian to follow, before settling on something that might be resignation. The four other men _swivel_ in unison to face him, suddenly predatory, suddenly determined. 

Sebastian sees Jim tense, his hands half-curling into fists. He glances, quickly, to the rafters in which Sebastian's hidden himself. Then he takes a step back and the guard - the thuggish one, the one with a nose that'd been broken and healed incorrectly, steps forward, expression ugly, reaching for Jim with a self-assured confidence -

and drops, collapses, before Sebastian even registers that his safety is off and his finger is on the trigger, fully depressed. But he's not one for half-measures and one down means three to go - means the meeting's gone poorly and now it's time to make sure they get out of it alive. 

He's prepared for that. He knows what to do when a meeting goes arse-up, even if he doesn't know what to do when Jim's hands curl into fists, his eyes go flinty, and he takes a quick, jerky step like he wants to run but is afraid to.

Sebastian hesitates, for a half-second, on the last one. The others were guards, as expendable as he knows he himself is. But Coulson's their contact for the SKC and if Sebastian kills him, that means -

Jim looks at Sebastian.

Sebastian pauses, finger on the trigger.

Jim looks at Coulson, considering. Coulson says something. It makes something in Jim's face twist, makes him look bitter and unhappy and so fucking _resigned_ for a second that it makes Sebastian want to cry.

Jim looks at Sebastian again, at where Sebastian's edged just barely out of the shadows.

Sebastian pulls the trigger.

Jim's waiting for him when he manages to get down - across the beams and down the stairs on the far wall. His hands are in his pockets and his shoulders curl slightly forwards, making him look a bit like a sulky teenager. 

"I don't always know when it happens," he snaps once Sebastian's within earshot. "It's early."

Two weeks early, according to the reminder Sebastian had put in his phone.

"S'fine," Sebastian says. He hefts his bag over one shoulder, then crouches down and grabs Jim's too. "I didn't like them anyway. Someone else will turn up."

Jim looks at the corpses on the floor. He gives one a halfhearted kick. "I didn't tell you to kill the last one," he comments. 

"My finger must have slipped," Sebastian answers in the same tone.

"My heat just started."

"Yeah, well." Sebastian shrugs. "We'll figure something out."

 

"Sometimes being around alphas can induce a heat," Jim says sulkily, when they're in the car. He has Coulson's phone in his hands, scrolling through the contacts on it, but with none of the focus he normally exhibits. 

They have hotel rooms booked at two separate hotels. Sebastian looks at Jim. "You didn't think of this before we flew out to meet a bunch of fucking alphas?"

Jim scowls at him, cheeks flushed red. With anger, or the heat, or the _actual_ heat, Sebastian has no idea. "It's never happened to me before. Shut up. Let me think." He closes his eyes.

His eyes are still closed when Sebastian pulls up to his hotel. 

"Do you want me to call Brian? It'll take less than a day to get him here." He'll come, if Sebastian calls him.

Jim's eyes snap open. "Who?"

"Brian. Your mate?" Brian, who's sent Sebastian nearly a dozen emails, all of them about "getting to know Jim better" or trying to set up a date. Brian, who'd said, "I really feel like he and I have, you know, a bond between us", to Sebastian, even though he doesn't even know what Jim _does_ when he's not fucking alphas in hotel rooms.

Jim chews on his lower lip distractedly. He glances out the window. "I don't have a mate."

"Well, he thinks he's your mate. He'd been your alpha for your last three heats."

Jim lights up with recognition. He fidgets in his seat. "Oh, him. So you have been using the same alpha. I thought you were."

"Yeah, him," Sebastian agrees, inordinately amused. "If I call now, I can probably get him a flight -"

"Don't bother," Jim interrupts. "He annoys me. It's fine when he's mounting me, but after, ugh. Boring. But I need -" He stops and shifts again.

"What do you need? Do you want me to find someone who -"

"I'd rather not," Jim says, apparently too irritable to let Sebastian finish a sentence. "We're being watched so if you go out and bring me an alpha..."

Then it'll get out that Jim's an omega. And that might be all right, but it also might not be, if word gets around that _Moriarty_ is an omega.

They move the conversation indoors before it can start to look suspicious. Once they do, Jim throws himself face-first on the bed. Sebastian's not sure if he should be concerned or not.

"Orders?"

"I can't give orders like this," Jim groans. "Fuck." He rolls his hips against the mattress, then twists, flipping over as quick and agilely as a cat. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. Sebastian's eyes are drawn, involuntarily, to the bulge at his groin and the spread of his legs, open and inviting. "I just - I want - I need -"

Sebastian's mouth feels dry. He shoves his hands into his pockets and curls his fingers into fists, fighting down the urge to reach out, to touch, to drag his hands over the slivers of pale flesh revealed as Jim's shirt and the hem of his trousers ride up.

Jim runs a hand through his hair, managing only to make it look more disheveled. He makes a low, frustrated noise, eyes closed and face flushed pink. "I just need someone to _touch_ me."

Sebastian wants to lick him. He wants to peel off Jim's clothes and pin him to the bed and suck on his throat. He wants to taste Jim's sweat and bury his face in his neck and _fuck_ him. He wants to hear the sounds Jim makes, soft and needy and vulnerable, and know that they're for him.

His trousers feel uncomfortably tight.

"Right," he says, and at the sound of his voice Jim's eyes slit open, watching him. Sebastian pretends not to notice the hungry way Jim's eyes rake over his body or the way Jim eyes the evidence of his arousal. "I can find someone who's discreet. We can kill him after, or say -"

"I don't want someone else," Jim interrupts. He hooks his thumbs in his belt loops and shimmies out of his trousers with quick, wriggling motions. His cock is hard, outlined clearly against his pants, and Sebastian had never really thought much about Jim's cock before but it's all he can think of now, its taste and its smell and how soft the skin would feel against his cheek or on his tongue. "I want _you_."

Sebastian's not an alpha. He knows he isn't, because he's never been driven mad with lust before. He's never lost sense of who he is. He's never had his vision go red with need. Alphas call it going heat-drunk.

It's never happened to Sebastian before. It never will. 

But something about Jim, like this, clumsily struggling out of his clothes and flushed with desire, fidgeting and making soft, animal noises, draws Sebastian to him like a moth to a flame. Sebastian's normally ironclad self-control stretches, frays, thens finally snaps as Jim displays himself in an open invitation.

Jim's skin is fever-warm. When Sebastian touches him, pressing a hand to his flat belly, Jim arches into the touch, sucking in a sharp breath.

"Yes," he hisses, grabbing Sebastian's wrist as quickly as a striking snake, jerking him onto the bed.

Sebastian spares himself a moment of surprise as he tumbles onto Jim and the bed. Their limbs tangle together. Jim moans at the contact, rubbing their groins together, tugging at Sebastian's shirt and only managing to tangle him up in his sleeves.

"Wait, wait," Sebastian says. He has to twist away to free himself. Jim paws at him the whole time, licking and biting at his face, his throat, sliding his hands down the back of Sebastian's trousers to grab his arse. 

"Fucking hell," he swears, when their bodies finally slide together, skin to skin. Jim is warm and already damp with sweat. He tastes like salt, and skin, and when Sebastian licks his throat Jim hooks a leg around Sebastian's waist and turns his face away.

"Seb," he says, blunt fingernails scratching lines of fire down Sebastian's back. His cock digs into Sebastian's belly. "Seb, please. I need - I -"

"What?" Sebastian asks, rocking his hips against Jim's, rubbing against him. "What do you need?"

"Fuck. I need - I need you to fuck me, please. Please, I need you to -" Jim grabs one of the hands Sebastian had been using to hold himself up. He presses it between his parted thighs, below his balls, where Sebastian can feel how slick his hole is.

"You're so wet," Sebastian marvels, when he slides the first finger in easily. Jim's wet, slick between his legs, and soon Sebastian's going to -

He is taken by complete surprise when Jim cuffs the side of his face.

" _Sebastian_ ," and Sebastian's never heard that tone from him before. Jim's voice stretches his name out into a plaintive whine. "Come on." He twists easily away from Sebastian's hands, turning around to offer Sebastian his arse. "Please, please. I need you _now_."

Sebastian swallows. "Yeah, okay. " He bends over and nuzzles the back of Jim's shoulder, inhaling deeply, letting his breath out over the soft hairs at the back of Jim's neck. But Jim won't hold still. Jim twists and presses back against him, breath coming quickly. He makes a frustrated, desperate noise when Sebastian hesitates, then _growls_ , a growl that turns into another needy, wordless whine.

 _Condom_ , Sebastian thinks for a second. But this is Jim's room and not his, and he knows Jim doesn't carry any. Which means he shouldn't. But he wants to. He wants to fuck Jim bare, wants to mark him, wants to come inside him. And he knows Jim wants it too, right now.

So fuck the consequences, he does it anyway, thrusting into Jim's slick, eager arse in a single motion. Jim's fingers dig into the sheets. He presses back against Sebastian's cock, until their bodies are pressed flush against each other.

"Harder," Jim demands, voice muffled against his forearm.

"Fuck," Sebastian swears again. Jim's so sexy like this, impaled on his cock, arse up and begging for more. Most of the time he's buttoned up in suits that make him look untouchable, and even when he isn't, he's still got a shield around himself, some aura of confidence and danger that's basically the same thing.

But not now. Now, Jim's stripped bare of everything but the need, of the heat. His breath hitches with every thrust, his whole body rocking with the force. Sebastian wants to wreck him. He wants to hurt him, enough that Jim will remember this tomorrow and the day after. He wants Jim to see himself in the mirror and see marks that Sebastian put there. He tightens his grip on Jim's hips to hold him more securely and Jim's hands scratch at the sheets, fingers clenching and unclenching. Sweat beads on his back.

"More," Jim begs, face still buried in his arm. The knuckles of his hand, buried in the sheets, are white.

Except, Sebastian knows, that Jim can't actually come like this. He can fuck Jim all night but Jim won't come. Not like this. He needs to be knotted.

Jim makes muffled whimpering sounds, gasps and moans against his arm. He presses back against Sebastian with each thrust and can't seem to stop moving, twisting and writhing like he needs -

"Here," Sebastian says. He spreads his open hand over the small of Jim's back, pressing him against the bed. Jim twists when Sebastian pulls out of him, makes an incoherent _yearning_ sound that only stops when Sebastian replaces his cock with his fingers, sliding three of them at once into Jim's body, easy because he is already stretched loose.

Jim's fluids are thick and slippery around his fingers. Sebastian draws his fingers free, adding his little finger. Four and now Jim's shoulders twist and his muscles twitch, under Sebastian's hand on his back. He takes deep, gasping breaths when Sebastian presses his hand in further. The ring of muscle around Sebastian's fingers stretches slowly, tight around his hand until Sebastian can tuck his knuckles just inside Jim's hole.

He brushes his thumb around the edge of where Jim's body yields for him. Jim's inner muscles clench and unclench around his fingers.

"Do you want more?"

"Please. Please, more, please." Jim begs. His voice is thick, choked. His hand scratches at the sheets. Sebastian runs his other hand up Jim's back. He pushes down on the spot between Jim's shoulders, palm flat against his sweat-slick skin, then stares at the sight, at his hand on Jim's back, open and possessive.

"Okay," Sebastian murmurs, mostly to himself. He takes a deep breath. "Okay, I've got you."

Thumb now, added to his other fingers. He presses them into Jim's greedy, eager hole, fascinated at the way Jim just _takes_ it, muscles stretching to accommodate him, passage slick and welcoming, tight around him.

Jim's breath comes in harsh, noisy gasps as Sebastian presses inside him. He stops only when his hand is fully inside, when the heel of his hand disappears and Jim's hole closes around the skin of his wrist. Jim makes a noise - it sounds like he's in pain and Sebastian would worry, except that Jim rocks backwards, fucking himself - slowly, carefully, on Sebastian's hand, curled into a fist within him.

Sebastian rotates his hand and Jim lets out another gasp, pushing up against Sebastian's palm holding him down. "Good?" he asks, but he already knows the answer because the noises Jim makes are pornographic, are sex, go straight to Sebastians groin and make him _want_.

Jim nods anyway, the back of his head bobbing up and down in Sebastian's vision, until he goes still with a final shiver, rippling down his muscles. He's coming, from just this, his cock twitching and jerking, spurting onto the bedspread. His body tenses and his muscles spasm around Sebastian's fist, squeezing and relaxing and squeezing again. 

If Sebastian were an alpha, it'd be his cock there and Jim would be _milking_ it, coaxing thick spurts of semen into him, encouraging Sebastian to flood his arse with his seed. He isn't. They can't. But they can still do this - Sebastian's fist in his arse and Jim's body open to him, vulnerable and willing.

Jim's breathing slows from its frantic pace. His muscles relax around Sebastian's hand after several more minutes pass. Sebastian runs his fingers through the hair on the back of his head, stroking gently. Jim makes a soft, contented sound. A sated sound that turns into a whimper when Sebastian finally, carefully, withdraws his hand. Jim's hole is loose now when Sebastian presses his thumb to it, still slick with arousal.

Now that Jim's done, Sebastian takes himself in hand. His cock jumps eagerly when he wraps his fingers around himself. His own desire, banked earlier by his concentration, flares when he shifts his focus, making himself comfortable.

He lies down on the bed next to Jim, who shifts closer to him and slides a hand over Sebastian's hip, warm and affectionate and _easy_ , like it's something they have been doing for weeks, for months, for years. They are close enough to be sharing the same breath, close enough that the back of Sebastian's hand brushes against Jim's belly with each stroke.

Sebastian mouths Jim's jaw, his throat, his bare shoulder. He inhales deeply until Jim's smell and taste and warmth fills the entirety of his awareness. He brings his own pleasure higher and higher until his orgasm finally rocks through him, face buried in the space where Jim's throat meets his shoulder.

His hand on Sebastian's hip feels like a brand.

 

Sebastian wakes to Jim practically mauling him. He is all hands and all mouth, fingers raking over Sebastian's torso with just a hint of nail. His teeth are on Sebastian's throat. It's much more sexy than it should be.

"Sebastian," Jim moans, sliding his thigh between Sebastian's legs. "Please. I need you." He sucks on Sebastian's throat, humming pleased against the skin when Sebastian grabs his arse.

"I love it when you beg," Sebastian says. Jim's wet again when Sebastian slides two exploratory fingers down his crack. He makes an eager noise when Sebastian presses the tip of his index finger inside him, considering.

"Do it," Jim says, so Sebastian does.

 

Jim wakes him three more times, after that.

 

Jim is asleep in his arms. He is warm in the way only other living creatures can be warm. Sebastian kisses the back of his neck and tightens his arm around Jim's waist when he begins to stir, idly stroking his fingers down Jim's belly.

Jim tenses in his arms.

Sebastian freezes, uncertain.

Jim's head turns slowly as he takes in his surroundings. His eyes flicker briefly to Sebastian's arm, then away. "Hmm," he murmurs softly. He taps his fingers on the sheets, then smooths them after several seconds.

"Are you okay?" Sebastian asks awkwardly. He'd never, before, with an omega. He's not sure what's supposed to come next. He's not sure what Jim _remembers_ or if there's anything he should do, now that it seems to be over.

"Hmm," Jim says again. He twists to face Sebastian. His forearms brace him against Sebastian's chest. It puts several inches of space between them. "Interesting."

"What is?"

Jim looks thoughtful. "I've never fucked a beta during a heat before."

Sebastian isn't sure how to respond to that. Luckily for him, Jim doesn't wait for him to say anything. He pushes Sebastian's arm off him with no hesitation at all and gets off the bed. 

"Don't forget to reschedule the flight we missed for sometime after tomorrow," he says, heading naked to the bathroom. There are bite marks on his shoulders and throat, and several small bruises on his hips. This time, Sebastian's the one who put them there. _He's_ the one who pressed his open mouth against Jim's throat, who dug his fingertips into his hips, who fucked him open and raw and made him beg for more.

Sebastian thinks he should feel something - some sort of triumph, maybe, or satisfaction, but he doesn't.

He wakes later from a light doze at the sound of Jim clicking his tongue at him. Jim's dressed again, in the clothes he'd worn the day before. The collar of his shirt hides the bruise on his neck. "I'm taking your hotel room, since the sheets in mine are filthy. Don't bother me for 24 hours unless you've killed someone."

He limps when he leaves, but only barely.

 

Sebastian spends the next twenty-four hours alternating between sleeping and trying to figure out if he ought to feel guilty, wondering if Jim is angry or upset or something worse, something related to the sometimes-bitter twist that comes to his mouth when he says the word _omega_. He wonders how things will change between them, if it means Jim's _his_ now.

He reschedules their missed flight back to London for the next day and packs Jim's things for him. This he's done before. They've swapped hotel rooms in the past, just never for this reason.

Jim is himself when he shows his face again. He is confident and untouchable and ever so slightly mocking when he looks at Sebastian, as if he knows something about Sebastian that he himself doesn't. 

"You have a little something on your face," he says, amused. He motions to Sebastian's cheek and throat.

"Yeah. I noticed." The 'something' is beard burn all over his jaw and throat. Jim had been the one to put it there. Jim, by contrast, is pristine. A part of Sebastian wants to tug down the collar of his shirt and rub his thumb down Jim's throat to expose the mark he'd left, but he doesn't. He wouldn't dare.

"Maybe if word gets out about this, they'll assume you're the omega," Jim comments. He's smirking. Laughter glitters behind his eyes. "Won't that be handy."

Sebastian rolls his eyes. Jim laughs and makes him drive so he can people-watch from the passenger's seat. And just like that, it never happened.

 

Everything goes on as normal.

The thing is, Jim actually pays Sebastian a rather generous retainer just to sit around and be at his beck and call whenever he does need him. But in all the times when he's _not_ called, when he's not hanging around as Jim's guard-slash-assassin-slash-assistant, Jim never seems to care where he is or what he does.

Sebastian fills in the days by going shooting, by working out, by visiting the few friends he still has from his time in the army. At night, he goes to bars and drinks a couple cheap beers and pretends he isn't waiting for a call.

Jim calls and he comes, but when he doesn't, Sebastian waits. He's not sure when or how it happened, that this has become his new life - treading water and waiting to be summoned.

The worst part of it, he thinks, is that it's not the waiting that bothers him.

It's that two and a half weeks ago, Sebastian pressed Jim into the bed and fucked him. He put his fingers and his cock and his _hand_ inside him, traced the path of his fingers with his tongue and marked it with bruises.

They haven't talked about it since. Jim hasn't talked to him since. That's normal when nothing's going on.

But he's starting to wish it wasn't.

 

Jim shows up eventually, of course. He lets himself into Sebastian's apartment without even an explanation, just a nod of acknowledgement, and makes himself comfortable. He's dressed young this time - well, casual, but casual makes him look young. He hasn't styled his hair. His fringe falls limply on his forehead in a way that makes him look easily confused and harmless.

The overall effect is a bit like looking into a tiger's cage and seeing a kitten. After having already thrown a deer in there and gotten back only scraps of fur and bone.

"Was wondering when you'd show up," Sebastian comments. It is as much a greeting as they ever exchange.

"Had to go somewhere. Family stuff," Jim says. He pulls a face and it seems sincere. Sebastian is surprised enough at the idea of Jim having a family (at the idea of Jim having a family and _letting people know about it_ ) that when Jim asks to borrow his laptop, he pushes it across the coffee table without comment.

"'Hey, Sebastian, it's about that time again but I haven't heard from you yet. Was just wondering how everything's doing. How's Jim? Let him know I've been thinking about him.'" Jim reads aloud. He's chosen a lower-class urban accent for the voice. "Really? And he's my mate."

Sebastian shrugs. He dials down the volume on the television a couple notches. "You never told me to change him. I think he's getting attached."

"Attached is right," Jim says, giving a low whistle. Sebastian peeks over his shoulder; he's brought up all the emails Brian's sent to that account, just over a dozen in total. "You didn't tell me about this. Maybe I should check my emails more often."

He clicks one at random.

"Sorry, I didn't think you cared. You don't -" Sebastian hesitates over the words. "He wants a relationship, but he doesn't know who you are. I figured he's not your type if all he has is a knot."

"Of course he isn't, don't be silly. What would I do with someone like him? Tie him to a stake and use him as bait?" Jim frowns at the screen. "Why would he want to give me a gift for my birthday? He doesn't even know me."

"He's spent your heats with you. Maybe that's enough."

"Now you're just being stupid. I'm barely human when I'm in heat." Jim looks at him. His eyes widen and he lets out a bark of laughter. "Are you annoyed? Why would you be annoyed?"

Sebastian scowls.

Jim laughs again. "Oh, Sebby, that's precious." He smothers more giggles with his fist. His shoulders shake with the effort to keep it in. "Really, it is."

Surprisingly, Jim's laughter makes something in Sebastian relax.

"Shut up," he says. "You want me to tell him anything from you?" He turns the laptop around to face him instead. "Maybe send him a picture?"

"No, of course not. Stop being stupid." He kicks Sebastian in the ankle, but gently.

 

They share a hotel room on their next job. They do, sometimes. It's harder to overpower two people at once and a shared room means half as much effort needed to make sure they're secure. 

"Are you ever going to say something about it?" Sebastian asks, in an evening of downtime between threatening people with guns and trying not to get threatened by people with guns. They've been living in each other's pockets for three days now and aside from the few times Sebastian's caught Jim looking at him, quiet and thoughtful, Jim has made no indication that he even remembers what happened.

He thinks Jim does but he's not sure, and how pathetic is that?

Jim looks blank for a moment. His expression clears, but not fully. "Oh, the heat thing? What is there to talk about? I went into heat when it was inconvenient and you helped me." He tilts his head. "You want to do it again."

Of course he does. He covers it with a nonchalant shrug. "Maybe."

Jim's eyes slide away from Sebastian's. He shrugs. "It doesn't matter to me. If you don't want to bother with another alpha and you don't mind, you're welcome to take care of my heats for me. I like you more than the other one."

That's not what Sebastian meant.

But it answers his question, at least.

 

Sebastian gives in and calls, this time, when he finds himself cut loose and adrift again, unsure of what to do.

"Is anyone important dead?" Jim asks.

"Uh, no."

"Someone unimportant?"

"No."

"Oh." Jim pauses. "Sooooo?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm at home. Why?"

Jim sounds confused at the idea of Sebastian calling him when no one's dead or in need of killing, which only makes it harder for Sebastian to take a breath and say, "I've got nothing on. You mind if I come over?"

Another pause. Sebastian would give anything to know what Jim's thinking. 

"You have a key. You can let yourself in."

 

Jim is wearing sweats and an ill-fitting T-shirt when Sebastian comes over, and again Sebastian's struck by how utterly _harmless_ he looks when he's not working. He glances at Sebastian when the door opens. "Don't let the neighbors see how you look," he warns. "They think I'm a writer."

"What's wrong with how I look?" Sebastian looks down at himself self-consciously.

"You look like a hit man and you're carrying a gun," Jim points out from his loose sprawl on the sofa. He sets the book he was reading face-down on his chest, still open. His feet are bare and his shirt has ridden up, exposing pale skin. "They'll think I owe someone money."

Sebastian huffs a soft laugh. It's always the other way around, with Jim. Sebastian would know; he's had to make the threats, before. And burn down the buildings, before.

"I don't have anything for you," Jim continues, picking up his book. "But if you want to be here, you can. What are you doing for dinner? Do it twice, once for me too."

 

So, Sebastian hangs around. He drops by when he feels the urge and sometimes Jim is home and other times he isn't. It makes him feel a little pathetic - like a dog waiting for its master, but Jim's the only one who knows him now, really. Jim's the only one who can read him at a glance, can know, without needing to be told, whether he needs to be left alone or needled until he can lash out and relieve some of the pressure that builds inside him.

None of his army mates know what he's been up to, these past years. None of them know that his dishonorable discharge was the _beginning_ , not the end, of the blood on his hands.

He only gets caught by Jim's neighbors once - by a sharp-eyed elderly woman who'd looked at him with narrowed eyes until he'd held up his key, plastered a dumb grin on his face, and said, "We're friends. He lets me stay at his place sometimes."

Then, she'd baked him a pie and called him a nice boy. When Jim found out, he'd laughed so hard he'd turned blue in the face.

Jim doesn't tell him to fuck off, except that he sometimes does. But he never sounds like he means it, like he minds ordering takeaway for two or having to budge over to let Sebastian sit next to him on the sofa.

 

They are at Jim's flat when his heat hits - cutting it close, because they'd been in Tokyo just a couple days before, recently enough that Sebastian's still trying to shake off the jet lag.

Sebastian mentions it first. "You're in heat," because Jim has been fidgeting on the sofa for several minutes now. He can see the outline of Jim's hard prick against his trousers.

Jim licks his lips and tilts his head back. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. "Not yet, I think," he says. "Without an alpha, I still have time. I'm still in control. For now, anyway."

"Oh. Do you want me to...?" Sebastian reaches out but stops before his hand makes contact with Jim's shoulder.

Jim starts to shake his head, then pauses, as if something's occurred to him. "Do you want to? You don't have to. I can wait."

But Sebastian doesn't want to wait, so he curls his fingers over Jim's shoulder and kisses him. Jim meets him halfway. He slides his hands under Sebastian's shirt and kisses him back, rough and demanding.

It starts differently, this time. Jim is no less desperate, no less urgent, but he doesn't _beg_. He doesn't mewl or whimper or plead for Sebastian to fuck him (he orders the last and the bite in his voice sends a shiver down Sebastian's spine). He runs the pads of his fingers instead of their nails over Sebastian's back, sucks on his throat instead of bites it. His eyes, when Sebastian meets them, are alert and aware.

Sebastian fucks him over the arm of the sofa, then turns Jim around and sucks him off. Jim comes in his mouth and pets his hair, then snaps his fingers next to Sebastian's ear. Sebastian looks up, still licking the taste of Jim's come out of his mouth. 

"While I can still -" Jim's lips twist for a moment, "think. I have a toy in my room. In the box on the floor. For when I'll need you to knot me." 

Sebastian swallows thickly. "Okay," he says.

They move to the bed. Sebastian can't chart the exact moment that Jim's heat comes to the fore. He can't detect the moment his desire changes from wanting to needing, the moment he loses _control_ , but he can see the signs after it happens, when Jim opens his mouth and instead of saying "hmmm, that's nice," or "do that again, but harder," he says "please, I need you." 

Sebastian fills Jim with his cock and then the thick dildo when his cock's not enough. The whole time Jim buries his face in his arms and begs, muffled, "Please, please I need you to mount me, please." He pins Jim to the bed with his body and Jim scratches lines of fire into his shoulders, wraps legs around his waist, twists to let Sebastian inside.

This time, when Jim's heat breaks and he wakes under one of Sebastian's arms, Sebastian pulls away to give him space. He watches Jim reach between his legs to take hold of the dildo Sebastian had left inside him, deflating the knot as he pulls it out. 

Jim looks at him. There's a bruise on his neck that Sebastian had put there. He doesn't pull away when Sebastian touches it then spreads his fingers, letting them curl around Jim's throat.

"Don't squeeze," Jim warns. He laughs when Sebastian lets go.

"You okay? Heat over?"

Jim pokes at the bruises on his hips. He fits his hand over them; they don't fit, of course. His hands are smaller than Sebastian's. At Sebastian's question, he takes a deep breath, then licks his lips. "Yes, thank you. You were very _solicitous_."

Sebastian wants, very badly, to kiss him.

Something about that must show in his face, because Jim is suddenly there, too close to focus on, their foreheads pressed together. His eyes bore into Sebastian's.

"I hate when you look at me like that," Sebastian complains, fighting the urge to cringe backwards. He looks away when Jim puts a hand on his chest, then knocks Jim's hand away when he tries to measure the pulse at Sebastian's throat. "Don't. I'm not one of your toys."

"Are you sure?"

Sebastian doesn't answer. Jim is looking at him curiously when he turns back. 

"Do you want to be?"

With Jim, silence is as good as a confession. Sebastian knows he _knows_ when his expression shifts to one of genuinely surprise. "Why, Seb." Jim slides his arm around Sebastian's waist. "You could have just _said_ ," Jim says, and kisses him.

 

This time, everything changes.

Now, when Jim stretches and catches Sebastian watching out of the corner of his eye, he grins and beckons Sebastian closer. He lets Sebastian trace his fingers over Jim's back, his sides, the delicate bones of his wrist. He presses Sebastian into walls and licks his way into Sebastian's mouth, his hands on Sebastian's shoulders to hold him still.

The first time someone catches them together, Sebastian on his knees for Jim in the middle of a job while they're waiting for more intel. The man who catches them spits at Sebastian and calls him a disgusting pervert. Jim shoots him in the face without a moment's hesitation. When the intel arrives, he finishes the meeting as if he hasn't noticed the spray of blood on his shirt or the bled-out corpse on the floor.

That night, Jim works two fingers in and out of Sebastian's arse - stretching him, while Sebastian twists and swears and tells him to _stop teasing, you fucking bastard_. He presses a kiss to the side of Sebastian's throat and promises, as he pushes into Sebastian, "No one but me is allowed to hurt you. I'll kill anyone who tries."

They work out of warehouses and rented offices still, to keep the evidence and their current civilian lives separate. But when Jim finishes for the night, closing folders and shutting down his computer and leaving notes to himself in an unreadable, messy shorthand, Sebastian is there, waiting for him.

Jim pickpockets his keys or hooks his fingers in Sebastian's belt loops or just bumps their shoulders. He tilts his head to the door and grins with one side of his mouth and both his eyes, and asks, "Coming?"

And Sebastian says what he always says - with the tilt of his eyes and the set of his shoulders and now, newly, the drag of his fingers and mouth across skin, which is, "Always."


End file.
